Misinterpreted Plans
by Cliara Aedai
Summary: The BAU team are dealing with an interesting challenge when they are faced with an unsub who believes he is doing the world a favour. How does the team deal with it, and how does Reid react?


**A/N Hey guys this is something I just thought I would try out. It is a little different to other fanfics because it is in the point of view of the unsub. Our favourite Criminal minds characters from the BAU will turn up at the end. Hope you enjoy and review! It also starts out in a similar way to one of my other fics, but the storyline is completely different.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the criminal minds characters but I do own my characters in this fic and also the storyline.**

Misinterpreted Plans

I watched as the young man stepped out of his old but well maintained house and onto the front porch that was littered with flower pots of every scent and colour. He was dressed in casual jeans with a calm, soft blue shirt and expensive Italian leather shoes. He walked with a relaxed air about him and seemed in no hurry to lock the front door behind him and head off to his destination. After all, it was just another ordinary day, or at least that is what the man probably thought. But I knew better. I knew all about his secrets and desires that he kept private. And I also knew about his plans that he had carried with him from childhood. Unfortunately for the young doctor though, these plans would not succeed alongside mine, as my plan is the only one with meaning and a goal. His are merely childhood dreams, and I know better than anyone that childhood isn't even a real thing. It is simply a word to describe the jail that we are locked in until we find the strength to break out and grow old. There are those of us that never wish to speak of our horrible childhoods again, and then there are those evil _psychiatrists_ that force us to relive our nightmares. It is these evil people who the world is ashamed of, and it is these evil people who I am going to get rid of. And the young doctor whom I am watching is the first subject of my plan to help the world. With a relaxed sigh, I replaced the binoculars in my bag and prepared for the first step of my plan.

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways" – Buddha

As I sat in my dull and lifeless bedroom only hours after I had completed my service to humanity, I began pondering over the possible complications of this plan. It was uncertain and vulnerable times like these when I began to lose focus and my mind began playing tricks on me. The voices always come first, chanting and echoing things in my head that I don't want to hear. And then there are the shadows. They corner me when I thought I was safe, and follow me when I want to be alone. They blur my vision so I am afraid to move, and even keep me from sleeping at night. The doctors told me that they were not real; it was my mind reacting after a hard childhood. They gave me drugs and made me speak, telling me it would help. But it didn't, and it only got worse until one day I realised the truth. The doctors and psychiatrists were trying to hurt me, and enjoyed seeing me suffer along with all of their other 'patients'. So I had to try and help myself, and the only way I could find that worked was by writing in a diary. I chose to work on a computer though, so that I could seal it with a password and my personal life would be kept private, as not even the shadows can read my diary. I don't particularly enjoy typing, but it keeps the shadows at bay, even if only temporarily.

_Dear Diary, 8/4_

_I am pleased to say that my first act to aid humanity went without a hitch. I followed my previous doctor and evil man up to a small graveyard I wasn't aware existed. It is located only a short distance from where I grew up, near Kalparrin Lake. The beauty of the place never fails to amaze me, so I found it fitting that I was making the world a better place in one of the world's most beautiful places. I did the deed that had to be done with a gun I had stolen from my father so many years ago. I was a little shaky at first, and there was something telling me not to kill him, but my more rational self knew that this had to be done, and I was about to become a hero of our society. And so, I simply shot him. It wasn't very hard, and even though it was very loud, I felt an immediate sense of calm. Talk about irony. But now that my mission here is complete, I am going to leave my childhood nightmares and hometown and go and spread my abilities elsewhere. I am aware that some people may misinterpret my plans as evil rather than good, so I must change my name. This will be my final entry as Johnny Fitzgerald._

"If you carry your childhood with you, you never become old." – Tom Stoppard

_Dear Diary, 2/5_

_It is now official to say that I have rid this deserving world of another, evil, psychotic psychiatrist. I have found a small hotel in Ivanhoe, not too far from the shops but secluded enough to be in privacy. I have observed this lady for almost three weeks now, and find her to be a more appalling psychiatrist than my previous one. She tries to sympathise with those who have been mistreated, but always says the wrong thing on purpose in order to hurt the patient. She also insisted on people speaking of their past all the time, which is cruel and unnerving. So I decided to target her for my next good deed. It was a little more difficult than the first time, I will admit, but eventually I managed to coax her over to a secluded part of the park. It wasn't too hard, considering my short stature and soft, brown eyes. I quickly got rid of her by means of suffocation, as this didn't make any noise. The last thing I wanted was to alert and scare a child if they saw what was happening, for they are too young to understand. Then I simply left, feeling my heart warm a little. In order to be able to continue on with my plan, I must move on and once again change my name and identity. This will be my last entry as and day living as Bryson Adams._

"Every man's memory is his private literature." – Aldous Huxley

_Dear Diary, 5/6_

_The world is a better place now. Every day, the sun shines a little brighter and smiles are more common in the streets. I know this is all thanks to me and my actions. I have rid the world of three evil 'psychiatrists' now and saved countless victims from reliving their horrors. My most recent included a middle-aged man who not only acted unreasonably to his clients but was also having an affair with a woman much younger than he! This information made me angry, and the shadows came back in full force. They circled me and shouted things at me, ordering me around. At the time I knew the only way to free myself from being trapped again was to get rid of the cause, which was of course the new psychiatrist. I admit in shame that I acted rashly, and barged into his house without any thoughts of being subtle or quiet. I found many things lying around his poorly kept house that helped me with my necessary task. It wasn't as efficient as the last times, but I still completed it. I realised I had taken too long and made too much noise when I heard sirens approaching. I escaped through the back door and headed in the direction of my rented plat in Geelong. And ever since then, I have been feeling great. No voices or shadows cornering me in my own space, which is a great relief. But I know that I have to move on yet again in order to be able to continue my work of ridding lying councillors and psychiatrists and saving all those victims who I possibly can. This is my last entry as Cameron Benson._

"I have memories – but only a fool stores his past in the future." – David Gerrold

_Dear Diary, 28/6_

_I have found my newest target living in the Melbourne City, by the name of Dr. William Brown. This time I am not so sure about my choice, because his patients are always smiling when around him. Is it possible that he truly does have good intentions? Is it possible that he is actually trying to help these victims? Well, I have decided to find out so that I can put my thoughts into a logical order again. I just made an appointment to see him at 3pm tomorrow. As soon as I hung up though, I began to feel regrets and uncertainty, which consequently attracted the shadows again. They chanted at me not to go, and cornered me trying to get an agreement out of my mouth. But I couldn't cancel my appointment now or he might think me weak, which I am anything but. Could a weak boy have endured his father's mistreatments since birth? Could a weak teenager have escaped his grasps and fled to a new home? Could a weak young man gone and found himself a job? And could a weak man be clearing the world of unforgiving psychiatrists? I think not. I know deep down that –_

I paused my typing as I heard loud bang from the direction of my front door, scaring me so much that I was temporarily unable to move. My fear increased as I heard the shuffling of numerous feet and then the loud, masculine call of "clear". Realising instantly what was happening; I ducked out of view from the windows and lunged towards my father's gun that was on the couch. I felt as though I was about to be sick as the feet came closer to me, and then the shadows were also upon me. I let out a loud yell of surprise and fear as they suffocated me, and through the pressuring haze I also saw a crowd of people wearing FBI vests. They had their guns pointed at me, with precise aim.

"Drop the gun, Johnny, and put your hands where I can see them!" A man with dark skin called out to me. But I was too distracted by the shadows, as they were swirling around me and giving me chills. _Don't listen, just kill… Don't listen, just kill…. _The voices chanted in my head.

"I don't want to kill them, they have done nothing wrong!" I screamed back in a hoarse voice, earning hesitant looks from the almost forgotten officers in the room. I began weeping as the shadows cornered me farther into the wall, my feeble attempts to warn them off failing. My hand holding the weapon shook dangerously.

"Drop the gun!" The loud voice came again, making me jump in surprise. I needed my diary, I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts were scattered, and I couldn't make any sense of my surroundings. Now I was panicking, but I couldn't do anything about it because of those DAMN voices.

"I can't" My weak voice whispered, but I wasn't sure if they heard me. "I can't".

The shadows were engulfing me now, so much that I could barely breathe. The voices were so loud that I couldn't even think straight, I needed to write or I knew I would die. I begged silently for help.

"Johnny?" A softer voice broke through the pain and confusion in my head. "Jonnhy?"

"Yes?" I replied, forcing myself to look up at the skinny man before me. He was very weird, to say the least, and did not look threatening. He wore unusual clothes, and had curly hair and glasses. He approached me quietly, with a look of compassion in his eyes I hadn't seen in years. He lowered his gun and walked slowly, asking for permission without words. I was about to ask him to help me, when the voice of the dark agent startled me.

"Reid! What in God's name are you doing, man?" He shouted.

"Morgan, calm down, I am going to help him. He isn't a threat to us, are you Johnny?" The skinny agent replied, looking at me for confirmation. His soft voice was like a shield to the shadows, and they began letting up a little. But still not enough for my liking.

"I am no threat, why would you think that?" I asked softly, earning a glare from a short, blond agent. Her reaction confused me and I stared deeply into her eyes trying to find answers.

"Johnny," Reid spoke to me "they think you are a threat because you are holding a gun. If you put it down, they won't be afraid of you and can even help."

"Why would I put the gun down?" I spoke, regaining much of my strength and courage. "It is the only thing protecting me from you now!" I exclaimed. "Why are you here anyway? I have done nothing wrong."

"We are here because you killed three innocent people Johnny, and we need to know why." Reid replied calmly. He wasn't accusing as I would have expected, he just sounded interested. Despite my better judgment, I was beginning to like this man.

"They were not innocent. They were evil monsters and I was doing a good deed to the world by getting rid of them. They forced people to talk about their childhood, because the victim's pain gave them happiness! They weren't helping any one and I had to save the victims! You should be thanking me." I yelled at the weak man before me, trying to fight off the unwelcome friendly feeling. The shadows were gone now, and most of the voices too. I was finally getting a hold on reality again. And as I realised this, I also realised that I wouldn't be getting out of this alive, for these people in FBI clothing had misinterpreted my plans as evil rather than good. Knowing that I was going to die, I decided to attempt a bargain. But before I could speak, Reid spoke again, almost as if he could see me decision in my eyes.

"Johnny, I understand that you thought these people were evil, but you were wrong. They were trying to help the victims, but some victims don't respond well. You are one of these people. The emotional pain of what your father did to you throughout your childhood was too much for one to bare, and the fact that you have made it this far in life says something about your immense courage. I understand about the voices and shadows, and I understand that you need to let it all out, but murder is not the way to do it."

I pondered over his proposal for a moment, but it didn't do much to change my mind. I knew what I needed, so I simply decided to ask.

"If what you say is true, that you understand that I do have an outlet, then please can you consider something." I began slowly "You are misguided if you think that murder was my outlet. I got rid of those monsters because they deserved it and I was helping society. My outlet is a completely different story. I use a diary on the computer to write my emotions and it helps keep control of my mind for a short while. At the moment I am being surrounded by shadows, even though not nearly as bad before. If you understand me, will you please let me type? I promise if you do, I will drop the gun and come with you quietly, because I will be able to finally think clearly. I am not leaving this place until I am free of the shadows. Please?" I finished, and stared deeply into Reid's eyes.

"Hotch?" He questioned, obviously unsure of what to say to my request.

An older and tall man who I presumed was Hotch looked at me for only a moment before making a decision to my request.

"Let him type." He responded in a level voice. I silently thanked him, and then I looked at Reid. And, what he did next nearly shocked me into unconsciousness. He _smiled_ at me. Moving very slowly, I walked over to my laptop and began typing with the hand that was not holding the gun, glancing up at the people in my room in suspicion every few seconds.

_Dear Diary,_

_I have finished my plan, all though it did not end how I wanted it to. They misinterpreted my doings as evil rather than good, which I always knew would happen in the end. My life was a waste in some senses, but worth it in others. When I was a young boy, I never thought I would escape my father's clutches, but alas, I did. When I was a teenager, I never thought I would ever be accepted into a job, but alas, I was. And when I was man I never thought I would be able to help the world and leave my mark, but once again, I have. All through my life, I have woken up each day, wondering if my life would be taken away from me before I was ready, but it never was. And there were some days when I wondered if I would ever be ready to leave this world in peace and happiness, without the shadows and voices following me. Today I know the answer to this question, as today is the first and only day I feel no regret over my life. Today I shall leave this world a happy man, with no regrets and no sadness. _

"Thank you for understanding" I said softly to Reid. Standing slowly, I raised the gun to my head, smiled widely, and pulled the trigger. 

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage" – Lucius Annaeus Seneca


End file.
